the most precious, the most priceless of triumphs—very, very precious. So”—and his glance was sideways and nimbly intelligent—“so if nothing at all is of such inestimable value, those two young pups can live on their expectations—quod erat demonstrandum.”
He shuddered and looked up at the façade of the gorgeous house which he had just quitted.
“So many sunny windows to sit in—to dream in. I—I should have found it agreeable. Pups!”
Crawling into his cab he sank into a pulpy mound, partially closing his eyes. And upon his pursed-up lips, unuttered yet imminent, a word trembled and wabbled as the cab bounced down the avenue. It may have been “precious”; it was probably “pups!”
[ XI]
ut there were further poignant emotions in store for the poet, for, as his cab swung out of the avenue and drew up before the great house on the southwest corner of Seventy-ninth Street and Madison Avenue, he caught a glimpse of his eldest daughter, Iole, vanishing into the house, and, at the same moment, he perceived his son-in-law, Mr. Wayne, paying the driver of a hansom-cab, while several liveried servants bore houseward the luggage of the wedding journey.
“George!” he cried dramatically, thrusting his head from the window of his own cab as that vehicle drew up with a jolt that made his stomach vibrate, “George! I am here!”